


Desert Suns

by Aviatorman (mooseman13579)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Gen, Tatooine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13658670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooseman13579/pseuds/Aviatorman
Summary: The vast desert of Tatooine may seem to have no seasons, but that's not true. Obi-Wan contemplates his long exile in the place his former friend once called home.





	1. Season of Winds, first week, Twenty years after the Clone Wars

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this several years ago and I'm still proud of it. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> This fic is AU in that I suspect that Beru is Anakin's twin sister and I've also used the old theory that the Clone Wars involved clones attacking the Republic. I have also lengthened the time between the end of those conflicts and the opening of Luke's story.

It had been a month since Obi-Wan had hidden on the backwater planet that he had been born on. One month since he had brought a small child to its aunt and her husband. Owen had been suspicious; he remembered when his best friend and brother-in-law had gone off into the stars and had… changed. Obi-Wan did not blame him, in fact the aging Knight placed most of the blame on himself for not noticing the corrupting influence of the Emperor until it was too late.

When Obi-Wan had been young, the Emperor had been a beacon of hope, had rallied the dying Republic into the rigid structure of the Empire in the midst of the all-out attack of millions and millions of cloned soldiers. As the war had dragged on and the career military had been whittled down by endless attrition, the Emperor had resorted to more and more desperate measures; scorched earth, drafts, and finally calling upon Obi-Wan's Order to aid him. Many Knights had fallen heeding that call, Obi-Wan and his oldest friend almost among them many times.

But then the war had ended and the light of hope had dimmed. Regulations that had once seemed reasonable were now harsh and unforgiving without the backdrop of war. Rights were extinguished one by one and a systematic discrimination against all non-humans began to slowly creep into the government workings. Most people hadn't noticed, but Obi-Wan had, had tried to warn his friend, unaware of how tight the Emperor's grip had become. Their confrontation had been…. Brutal. Obi-Wan now walked with a slight limp and his opponent had been severely reduced. After that, the Jedi had been hunted, one by one, until only two were left. Obi-Wan and his instructor had each staged their deaths and gone into exile to leave some remnant of the Order to survive.

Before he disappeared from the world, he had met with his friend's wife. The woman had just given birth to twins and now she was desperate to keep her children safe from what her husband had become. Together, they came up with a plan; the boy would go with Obi-Wan to Tatooine and she would take her daughter and hide on Alderaan in the household of Bail Organa, a close cousin and influential politician. After delivering the child, Obi-Wan had sold the Kenobi holdings save for one forgotten corner out past what might ever be covered by stretching the term 'civilization'. There, he had built a small domicile, seated high atop a mesa, giving a stunning view of the desert for miles around. It was desperately beautiful, it was terrifyingly lonely.

And so Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight and former General, began his long exile.


	2. Season of Storms, Second week, Twenty Three years after the Clone Wars

Owen had met the Obi-Wan's request to train the boy by bringing out his father's antique blaster rifle. The shot had gone wild from unskilled hands and neglect, but the intent was unmistakable, understandable.

Owen was only trying to protect his nephew from his father's fate, even if it meant driving the boy's only chance to protect himself away. Before Obi-Wan had gotten too far from the Lars homestead, Beru had called to him tentatively. When he turned to see this woman whose easy smile and blue eyes reminded him of her brother, he saw that she held a large basket in her arms. In it were breads, small pies, candies, and three jars of sunburn ointment.

"Owen's a big softie, really." She said. "He dotes on that boy, would die to protect him. Watching him take after his father would break his heart." They both looked away from each other, remembering what had become of the child's absent father.

Beru thrust the basket towards him. "You should go. The rifle jammed, but Owen will be clearing it as fast as he can." Obi-Wan took the basket but hesitated before turning.

"Why didn't you seek training? You could have been his equal." He questioned. Beru smiled wanly. "I love this place too much to leave. He was the adventurous one."

Obi-Wan nodded and silently turned to begin the long trek home. For some time afterwards, he stared out at the dunes below the mesa and considered how things would have been if the siblings had not gone their separate ways.


	3. Season of Echoes, Third week, Twenty Five years after the Clone Wars

Obi-Wan was wandering. He trod without any destination in mind, simply exploring the landscape he found himself in. The rocky terrain around the mesa he lived on had already been thoroughly explored and he was now moving out to explore the desert wastes. Here and there were the sand-blasted remains of homesteads that had not been able to survive. Occasionally, some showed signs of attack, testament to the Sand People in the area.

The sight reminded him of how he had stumbled across a caravan not three weeks ago. They had been wary, but he had only been one man walking alone and weaponless. Obi-Wan had dispelled many of their doubts when he offered one of them a drink from his canteen, a gesture of great respect among the Sand People. After that, he had been welcomed into their roving settlement and he'd been slowly learning their language since.

His thoughts were broken by a far off shout in that same tongue. Unlike other inhabitants of the desert world, the sound did not inspire fear in him, rather he strove to understand the message. His grasp was not good enough to fully discern the meaning, but he could make out one word; 'Kyrat'. Obi-Wan's blood went cold, a Kyrat Dragon in the area would be trouble for everyone, including the farms a beyond the wastes he lived in. He pushed his body to run as fast as he could towards the source of the shout, clearing the outcroppings and dunes in mere minutes.

The sight before him was not exactly surprising; three youths out on their rite of passage to kill a Kyrat, but they were not doing well. One youth was on the ground, desperately holding shut a wound on his stomach, his comrades attempting to drive off the creature as killing it would require all three of them. Obi-Wan leapt into their midst and called upon the Force to hurl a large boulder at the Kyrat Dragon.

The blow did not have the intended effect, only causing the creature to attack more aggressively, slashing at the newcomer. The aged Knight barely dodged the rending claws, already regretting leaving his blade in the old trunk. However, his distraction had been enough for the two able youths to flank the beast and stab it just under the flared skullplate, cutting both spinal cords. They stood atop its slightly twitching body and began to howl, a sound which sounded almost identical to the howl of the beast they had felled. After some coaching and a few misunderstanding, they taught Obi-Wan how to replicate the sound as well and three howls bounced off the dunes and rocks.

Their brief celebration concluded, everyone's attention turned to the downed youth. Obi-Wan was the first to his side, kneeling before the prone boy. Reaching out with the Force, he saw the depths of the wound and knew that if nothing was done soon, the boy would die. The old man placed his hands over the youth's tiring and blood-slick ones and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan allowed himself to sink deeply into the Force, feeling the life around him and using that power to will the wound to close, the heart to beat, the blood to flow. The other two were silent as they watched and the suns created long shadows before Obi-Wan opened his eyes again. The third youth was breathing easily now, having fallen into a restful sleep. The old man gently removed the boy's hands from the wound to reveal smooth, clean skin that was ringed in dried blood.

The other two shouted in astonishment and Obi-Wan was too tired to decipher their words. Only when they offered him a canteen did he begin to guess their meaning.


	4. Season of Stillness, Fourth week, Twenty Seven years after the Clone Wars

Obi-Wan was out with the rising suns, stripped to only his woven pants, bare feet on the gently warming stone. Moving slowly, he flowed through the many forms of combat he had learned in his seventy years. First the strong, sure strikes of Kata-Djo, each stance built like an immovable statue, requiring firmly placed feet and a finely tuned sense of balance. Then he transitioned into the open-palmed strikes of Thruusk, each strike putting one in mind of a hissing cobra. After that came the primarily kick-based style of Tsai Oot, a perfect style of combat for a man who expected to have his hands busy holding a weapon. The last kick of that form was smoothly turned into the defensive stance of Mnipu, an art that relied upon redirection and deflection instead of overt attack, and mostly consisting of grapples and dodges and blocks. Finally, he transitioned into the acrobatic style of Afgetho, rising up with difficulty onto his toes to work on as much of the flips and leaping strikes as his old bones would allow.

He could no longer make the lightning movements of youth, but the motions helped him focus and stave off his dotage. Still, his ritual kata was always imcomplete, for even out in the desert wastes, he would not risk another living thing recognizing the blazing blue blade of a Knight's weapon. Without the benefits of battle meditiation, Obi-Wan was forced to return to the traditional method that he had been taught by Yoda so many decades ago. Many of his days were spent crosslegged on the roof of his home, letting himself sink into the flow of the Force; feeling it around him, move through him. The energy field took the form of glowing strands connecting everything together in his mind's eye. Today, through the Force, he could sense a Sandcrawler prowl the wilderness, bursting with the light of those aboard. Across the canyon, a small lizard ventured from its home in search of food, and far off, over the horizon, a small star burned brightly. Even young and untrained, the boy shone so brightly, so purely. Obi-Wan could see why Owen would want to protect something so precious and innocent.

Obi-Wan sat and considered the star on the horizon, occasionally exerting his will on the Force to condense moisture onto his tongue. Around him, the desert shimmered under the unrelenting suns.

That night, Obi-Wan used almost half a jar of the ointment Beru had given him, lamenting that he could not prevent sunburns despite all his skill in the Force. Strong am I in the Force, he thought with a smile, but not that strong.


	5. Season of Harvest, Fifth week, Thirty-Four years after the Clone Wars

The vaporater had broken and Obi-Wan never felt the sting of his hermitage like he did now. Taking what little water he had left, he trudged out to the Lars farm. The journey seemed longer than it ever had, the suns seemed brighter than before, the trackless desert more confusing than he remembered, and somewhere along the way his canteen had gone dry. The boy was not there, Obi-Wan felt him far away, possibly with others his age. He did, however, run into Beru coming out of the sunken house, her arms full of bedclothes. Obi-Wan walked towards her, his feet becoming more unsteady with each step. He dimly heard a feminine shout as the packed sand rushed up to meet him.

He woke in darkness and dimness, aware that he needed water more than anything. His mouth felt dry and his tongue felt chapped and sluggish, the only sound he could make was a low moan. It did have an effect as the sound of a quick but heavy tread approached.

"Close your eyes, I'm turning on the light."

The voice was gruff, the sound Obi-Wan was convinced the desert would make if it could speak. It took several minutes for his eyes to adjust, the first sight being the bearded face of Owen Lars.

"Here," he said, thrusting a large cup at the older man, who sat up to receive it, "drink this slowly. Don't know what kind of sun-touched idea got in your head to make you walk around with an empty canteen, but you're lucky to be alive."

Obi-Wan drank the whole cup, working his tongue around before replying. "My vaporator is broken," he said hoarsely.

It was all he needed to say, they were both natives of this world. A broken vaporator was a death sentence and your only hope was to gather what little water you had left and begin the long trek to the nearest settlement. The desert was littered with the bleached bones of men and women who hadn't made it.

"Alright." Owen ran his hand through his hair. "When the boy gets back, we'll go out to Anchorhead to get parts and we'll go fix it." Obi-Wan nodded in thanks, laying back down to rest as Owen trudged out of the room.

Obi-Wan woke again, this time feeling halfway alive. As he woke, he noticed the wild brightness of the boy nearby. The light of his untrained power was almost blinding to the older man's mind. Opening his eyes, he saw Owen sitting in the small room's only chair with a disapproving glare.

The aging Knight sighed and sat up, willing old bones to obey. "Let's get going then."

Owen nodded and left the room, gesturing for Obi-Wan to follow. The speeder they both clambered into was a two-seater, new but not flashy. "Got it for the boy's fourteenth birthday. Runs maintenance on it religiously." Owen said. The engine started with a low purr, the rumble of the moving parts was strangely comfortable.

Obi-Wan smiled sadly at the evidence of the boy's heritage. "His father's son." Owen looked over to see the Knight's morose expression. Instead of speaking, he piloted the finely-tuned machine out onto the bleached landscape. The featureless dunes zipped by, along with the occasional moisture vaporator.

Finally, Owen spoke. "I worry about him."

The admission was almost like some dark secret, Owen was a man not prone to sharing his feelings and for him to do so was an occasion to be remembered. "He wants to go to the Academy, be among the stars. I…" Owen faltered. If Obi-Wan hadn't known better, he might have thought the other man was on the verge of tears. "I won't be able to protect him if he leaves. He's so young, so innocent."

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. "He mustn't go to the Academy," he said. "He will be discovered by the Emperor or… his servant there."

And just like that, at the mention of the Emperor's servant, Owen's moment of vulnerability was over.

"If I have my say, he will never go to the Academy." The words were a finality, like a new law of the Universe.

Five minutes later, they reached Anchorhead. Owen purchased the relevant parts, waving away Obi-Wan's offer of payment saying "With what money? And having you working on my farm near the boy is just as bad." Together, the two aged men loaded the parts and tied them down, then began the long trip out to the hermitage.


	6. Season of Winds, Sixth week, Forty years after the Clone Wars

Obi-Wan had not been near the Lars farm in six years. Not since that night when he and Owen had arrived at his home, tired and dusty, to repair the one thing that made habitation of Tatooine possible. After they had finished, Obi-Wan had asked Owen to take his best friend's most prized possession to the boy. Owen had objected. Vehemently. He had yelled, thrown things, and finally stormed off. As he started the speeder, he had yelled that if he saw the Knight again, he would kill him with his bare hands.

But that had been a long time ago. Today, Obi-Wan felt ripples in the Force. He could feel the world shifting around him. It was a feeling that he used to relish, but now he was old and old bones do not take to adventures lightly. A few days ago he had seen the flashes of light in the sky that told of a battle above the planet and he had seen something enter the atmosphere. Events were moving and Obi-Wan seemed to have no choice but to be swept up in them.

Suddenly, he felt a prompting from the Force; the boy would be in danger soon. If he left now, he would arrive in time to intervene, maybe even have some time alone before Owen found out. Quickly grabbing his cloak, Obi-Wan rushed out of his home and into his destiny.


End file.
